Boy with the Bread
by Writing5Ever
Summary: The baker's boy, intentionally burning bread for a Seam girl? Unlikely. Not for Peeta Mellark.


I rush into the bakery, because my dad called for me about twenty minutes ago to help him around. I was just finishing my homework, but my mother ordered me to go and that's why I'm here.

"I'm here, dad." I say, slipping on the apron and getting ready to assist. "Glad to see you, Peeta." He says without looking up from the bread he's kneading. "What do you want me to do?" I ask him. He points at the tray lined with rolls. "I'm sure you can handle that now. I've taught you how to put it in for many times." He says, observing the down pour outside. "Man, it's raining cats and dogs out there." My brother comments as he slides himself into the picture. "Mind if I push you out there, Peeta?" He smirks at me with a devilish grin. As being the youngest of the bunch, my special treatment is this. I give him my best 'what the' look, and he turns away. I push in the rolls into the oven and close the door. My mother steps in, looking something between gloomy and angry. She holds a gaze at us until the bell in the front of the house rings again and she turns into a completely different person.

My father asks me to make some more rolls, so I do. I hear clanking in the backyard, but I quickly turn my attention back to my bread making. I hear the clanking noise again. I'm thinking to myself if it's a rat or a stray pet or something. Or an actual person. I dismiss the thought because my mother knocks me back into reality harshly by hitting me in the back. "Get back to work, Peeta." She says almost gruffly, and I do not know where she came from. I get back to work while my mother hurries over to the back door. My father tells me to be ready to put the two loaves of bread he just made into the oven. I nod and I look gingerly into the window.

And there she was. Standing small and afraid against my mother's harsh words. The rain is sopping up into her jacket and she looks very hungry. Her father just recently passed and I really feel sorry for her. I know her name. Her name is Katniss. The days I've remembered seeing her is when we were in kindergarten and she sung, and in the quiet school hallways almost every day when I just look at her and then she'll look back, making my heart flutter. Most of my friends and even family will disapprove of me 'liking' her. She's from the Seam, the poorer side of the district, her hair very dark and her eyes a pretty kind of grey. I finally get my guess correct when I heard my mother screaming out that she was digging around in our trash bins. Of course she would; she's hungry and hurt and in need of care.

I decided to do something. I was going to burn the bread, to save her from starving.

I take the loaves quite too sneakily, and my father gives me a look, but he quickly forgets about it and gets back to work. I slide the bread into the burning embers of our oven, and intentionally push it farther down to the flames, but I could still reach it out. I wait for a few minutes and check on the bread. Not burnt yet to pass as pig food. I need to wait, but I hope my mother doesn't scare her away, yet.

I wait, ad wait, and I just hear her toss the lid back on the bin, and slosh away. She fell back into a tree and sat there, ever so still. Did I let her go? Did she die of starvation already? No, it doesn't seem like it. She's more of a fighter, and by the looks of it, she's still breathing good, but I can tell her hunger is depressing. I'm just itching to drag her in here and bring her in and take care of her. Mother won't allow it.

"Come on, come on…" I whisper under my breath, trying hard not to show my plan, and thankfully no one's onto me. I sigh and look back into the oven. How long does it take for this thing to burn? Clearly, a long time. I sigh and sink to my seat. I'm desperate to help her, to save her from her current conditions. I decided to do something I wouldn't do. Ever.

I sneak back to the oven and press the button to make the heat even higher. I can hear it crackling slowly, getting cooked faster. I push it more, and it feels like I'm going to break the poor thing. I sneak back to the oven door, and realize the bread is cooked, since I was way too eager for it to cook, but it's not burnt enough for me to carry to her and for my mother to tell me to feed it to the hogs we have in the backyard. I press the button more, and I hear sizzling. My time is ticking and I know she'll decide to leave soon. I'm praying now, for some reason for it to burn. I check, and it's finally burnt. I'm sure it's still well on the inside, but the burnt outer layer will get me into a beating, but I know it's worth it.

I snag the bread from the oven and rush almost to the door, until my mother grumbles and gets back in. "What did you do?" She yells loudly, wracking my ear drums. "You burnt this?" She points to the bread, and I nod stiffly. "Fool!" She slaps me squarely in my face and I close my eyes. It hurts, but I'm used to this. "Feed it to the pigs!" She screams, pointing out the door. I nod and run outside, checking if she's still by the tree stump. Luckily, I made it out in time. For show, I tear off pieces of one loaf, and throw it into the pen of snorting pigs, and I look back at her. She seems to see my bruised cheek, looking kind of sorry. I check if my mother's gone and thankfully she is. I swiftly throw the bread at her feet, and she looks up at me for assurance. I nod briskly but I don't think she caught it. I throw the second one and she scrambles to her feet, tucking the loaves into her jacket and then runs off into the foggy nothingness. She will take it home. I sigh, and I feel like I've helped someone greatly. Did I? I think I did. I brace myself as I enter the house, waiting to get a beating. All I see is the face of her, Katniss, looking ever so pretty with her dark hair and grey eyes. I just wish she knew I existed in this world. Maybe she does. But I'll never know.


End file.
